[ Gonna be honest with you, the look on his face says he would not consider that Gale would poke even a bit of fun at him in a million years.
He doesn't take his eyes off of Gale, nor the smile off his face, as he picks up after him again. Godfrey barely thinks twice about the cup he's retrieved or the unpleasant dampness dissipating from his leg. He even laughs along as Gale pokes his fun - his chuckle made slow and trundling by the drink, rather than perfectly sensible - simply because some slow reflex in him senses that he should in Gale's cadence. It's the way he speaks, Godfrey is sure, when he's certain he's said something particularly clever and funny.
None of that matters. What matters has not changed, but has still gone unspoken; Gale is here, with him. His drunken gaze flits from here to there, flashing over Gale's face as his brain works to catch up with his partner's words. ]
I'm not thinking about drinking anything.
[ Those syllables sound as clumsy coming out of him as they look, his mouth hanging awkwardly on each -ing even as he slurs and crashes through the rest in a warm, slow murmuring.
And indeed, he isn't. There's plenty of other things to think about.
For instance, that Gale is here right now - but despite this, there's intolerable coldness and empty weightlessness in his lap.
The drink has lent him a certain level of boldness, but not enough; rather than simply lift him into his thighs, he grasps gently to his wrist, smiling brightly. ]
no subject
He doesn't take his eyes off of Gale, nor the smile off his face, as he picks up after him again. Godfrey barely thinks twice about the cup he's retrieved or the unpleasant dampness dissipating from his leg. He even laughs along as Gale pokes his fun - his chuckle made slow and trundling by the drink, rather than perfectly sensible - simply because some slow reflex in him senses that he should in Gale's cadence. It's the way he speaks, Godfrey is sure, when he's certain he's said something particularly clever and funny.
None of that matters. What matters has not changed, but has still gone unspoken; Gale is here, with him. His drunken gaze flits from here to there, flashing over Gale's face as his brain works to catch up with his partner's words. ]
I'm not thinking about drinking anything.
[ Those syllables sound as clumsy coming out of him as they look, his mouth hanging awkwardly on each -ing even as he slurs and crashes through the rest in a warm, slow murmuring.
And indeed, he isn't. There's plenty of other things to think about.
For instance, that Gale is here right now - but despite this, there's intolerable coldness and empty weightlessness in his lap.
The drink has lent him a certain level of boldness, but not enough; rather than simply lift him into his thighs, he grasps gently to his wrist, smiling brightly. ]
Come here.